Welcome to the Black Parade
by DreamsOfATeenager
Summary: Johnny Baldwin is dying of cancer. While lying on his death bed, he begins to relive memories, and one memory stands out in particular. My Chemical Romance one-shot.


**_Hello! So, this is just a one shot inspired by the album The Black Parade, by My Chemical Romance. Today, is the 5th anniversary of the release of the album, and it's my favourite album of all time. To celebrate, I decided to write a one shot centred around the parade, and Gerard's belief that when you die, death comes for you in the form of your fondest memory._**

**_This took me almost and hour to write, the creavtive angle of this was difficult to achieve, but I hope I have accomplished it._**

**_DISCLAIMER - I DO NOT OWN MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE OR THE SONGS THEY WRIRE. ANY LYRICS USED IN THIS STORY AND ANY CONECPTS ARE OWNED BY MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE. IF I DID, THE WORLD WOULD BE A VERY DIFFERENT PLACE. THANK YOU. :)_**

**Welcome to the Black Parade**

My name is Johnny; Johnny Baldwin. I'm 39 years of age, and lying in a hospital bed. I'm dying of cancer; cancer of the lungs and it has spread. I don't have long left to live, according to my doctor. My family are at my bedside; my mother, my father, my two brothers, my sister, my fiancée and my daughter. _Oh, my daughter. _She's only 7. She won't understand why her daddy is gone…

Let me tell you a little about my life. I'm a clean cut kind of guy. I work hard for the pay I earn to keep food on the table. My job as a CEO at a major corporation brings in quite a high income, I guess. My daughter, Clarissa, has everything she could possibly want and need. It pains me to see her so upset as she sits on my bed with me, listening to the silence of the room. The only sound a heart monitor, that's beeping at an annoyingly steady pace. Knowing that that beeping will soon slow down, then cease to exist is excruciating.

My lips are chapped and faded and all my hair has abandoned my body. I can't understand where my Aunt Marie is. She was like my second mum, and I wanted her to be the one to gather all my things. My own mother and father were never really there for me. They worked too hard and too often. I was closer to Aunt Marie.

"Turn away. I'm awful to see…" I groaned.

"Johnny, we will never turn our backs on you…" that was my fiancée's voice, although I couldn't bring my head up high enough to look at her.

"I'll never marry you now…Death took us all by surprise…"

"Shh, sweetie. It's okay, I know you love me." She bent down to kiss me, but with the very little strength I had, I stopped her.

"I will not kiss you, because the hardest part of this is leaving you." She looked hurt, but she nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry; I'm just soggy from the chemo. But if you say good bye today, I'll ask you to be true. Like I said, the hardest part of this is leaving you…"

She took my hand and squeezed it.

"You don't need to explain yourself, Johnny. We understand." I nodded with accomplishment overwhelming my mind.

In the last moments of my life, I began to relive my favourite memories. Clarissa being born, meeting my fiancée, getting promoted to CEO, graduating high school, finishing college with the highest degrees…All of them were spectacular. But none as spectacular as a childhood memory that I had savoured and forgotten in order to relive the day I died. It was too special, too fragile to remember on any other day. I wouldn't want to lose that beautiful memory. I didn't want it getting distorted, so I repressed it until I lay on my death bed.

When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city to see a marching band. He said, "Son, when you grow up, would you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned?" He said, "Will you defeat them, your demons and all the non-believers, the plans that they have made? Because one day I'll leave you a phantom, to lead you in the summer, to join the black parade."

A procession of men in uniform with instruments bigger than my small, 5 year old self paraded down through the street. My father lifted me onto his shoulders so I could get a clear view. And to me, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Any adult would have called it inspirational. But me, I was just a child. I didn't know the meaning of the word. To me, it represented everything I ever wanted to be. Clean cut, a man in a uniform, with an identity amongst many others.

A man at the front of the procession stood alone, marching ahead of the others. He had no instrument, but a large gold and black stick. Being only 5, I had no idea what it was called, and to this day, I still don't. I decided there and then that that was who I wanted to be. I didn't want to be part of the crowd; I wanted to march my way to the top, to excel where others haven't. I wanted to be the recognisable one.

That memory was one of the only memories with my father. Like I said, he was the workaholic type. I treasured that memory more than anything. So much so, I locked it away in the back of my mind until the day I lay dying. After reliving that memory, I knew it was time to go. Time to leave the world behind, and time to cross over to wherever it was I was destined to go.

The beeping started to slow, my eyelids grew heavy and my vision soon became an array of black mist.

Then, silence fell.

The silence stayed for a long time. I knew I was dead, that much was obvious. But if this was what death was, just black silence for eternity, I think I would end up going mad.

After a while of the numb abyss, I could hear something. Drums. A lot of drums. In a similar rhythm constantly. _Dum, da da da dum dum, da da da dum, Dum, da da da dum dum, da da da dum, Dum, da da da dum dum, da da da dum…_A steady rhythm, repeated over and over again. Light began to shed over the situation, leaving me stood in my hospital gown with bare feet on what looked like a scrap yard.

Broken instruments, paintings, gas masks, skulls, bones, flags, deflated balloons, swords, old guns even a penny farthing bicycle lay strewn across the dusty floor in a pile. There was no colour, apart from a blood red that covered a few of the discarded items. Everything was dull and colourless; blacks, whites, greys, browns, mauves, sepias…

I turned my head furiously, looking for the source of the drumming. I saw zeppelins and wartime aircraft flying high above me in the dark sky. A city lay far into the distance, dominating the horizon. Huge, tall spires reached up into the sky. Churches, clock towers, cathedrals, and other tall, pointy buildings. There was a long road that looked like it had been made by horses galloping towards this city of the damned. My feet stumbled forwards, towards the city. I tripped and regained my balance countless times, my feet becoming dirty and blackened by the soil from beneath me.

But the drumming was becoming quieter, further away with every step towards the city I took. It soon became clear that the sound came from behind me. I turned as fast as my worn body would allow, and I saw the most mesmerising sight I had ever encountered. This was a scene no simple man could imagine or dream, you had to be something special to create this as a figment of the imagination.

A black carnival float was slowly approaching me. The front had black white and red ribbons hanging in a beautiful fashion, and a white skull made up of what looked like white roses. On the top of the float was another level, a smaller level to which the border was covered in red roses. A procession of people, each in a different uniform, flooded in around it. Some had black military clothing, with white bands across their chests. Some wore world war two uniforms. Some wore black cloaks. Some wore silver suits of armour. Most of them wore masks or hats. Some of them were mere bone, marching as skeletons.

One woman in particular caught my attention. Her hair was blonde and curly, bigger than any hair I had ever seen. It looked like a mess, but it looked so tidy. The top of her hair was flattened by straps that connected to a gas mask that sat over her face. Her dress began with a black corset, with white, horizontal bands that grew smaller the closer to her waist they got. The sleeves were black, patternless lace that had been ripped. Dirty, white gauzes were tied over each wrist. The skirt of her dress reached the floor, and was a dirty white. It looked as if it was made from feathers but had a rough texture, like straw. The frame of the dress was black and was unusually on the outside of the skirt. To any other she would have been hideous to look at. But to me, she was the definition of beauty and elegance. The gas mask would have made others uncertain, but it only drew me closer to her.

Me eyes were then drawn to 5 men, all stood in formation upon the float. Each of them had a unique version of a black military uniform.

The first man in the back row had big, curly hair. It was a darker brown than chestnut, and almost as wild as the gas mask girl's hair. His coat came to his waist and had white bands across the chest, as did each of the men. But this man also had thin, white, vertical stripes down his jacket. Each of the common white bands had a details array of swirls at either end, making his different to the others. His collar reached the top of his neck, keeping his head upright and looking forward. He also had white, detailed thread hanging in from his right shoulder.

The man that stood next to him had blonde hair, swept down into a side fringe above his eye. His ears were pierced with black stud and his lip had a black lip ring on his left side. His collar fanned out a little more than the others, and the white bands on his coat were more spaced out, with fewer of them. His coat was longer than the first man's, and had a white patch on one of his arms. I couldn't see properly if it had any kind of logo on it.

The next man started the row beneath them on a lower step. He was shorter than the others, but not by much. His coat mimicked that, being shorter than everyone else's. The arms of the coat had white stripes running horizontally down them, with a little black patch on. The patch had a cross on it, the kind you'd associate with religion. He too had pierced ears with black studs, but a silver lip ring on the left side of his bottom lip.

The fourth man stood in the middle of the bottom row. His hair was cropped and a dazzling white. His jacket was standard. It stopped t his hips, with the same white bands as the others. No extraordinary details, just simple white bands with buttons on either end of them. His eyes were dark and sunken in, piercing my own even from the distance he was at.

The fifth and final man was taller than the middle man. His hair was short and black, his jaw line staggeringly angular. His coat was as long as the second man's, but the collar on crept up his neck. The white bands were, of course, there. Although, he wore a medal. It looked like the Victoria Cross, but I couldn't be sure. He wore a black, thick belt at his waist with a big silver buckle. He showed some resemblance to the middle man. Could they be related?

These five men seemed to be the centre of the parade. Not one other participant stepped a foot out of line, always stayed behind them. They never touched the float, and dodged it if they became to close. It came towards me at a slow, steady pace. I tried to take a step backwards, but I couldn't move. I was mesmerised by the parade.

The float finally came to a stop a few metres in front of me. Two women of equal appearance walked in front of the float, towards me. Each of them wore a dress that stopped above the knee, the bodice having the same white bands as everyone in the procession. They wore black fingerless gloves up past their elbows and black knee high socks with heavy black boots. Both had black engulfing their eyes like a mask. Their hair was shoulder length and black.

They each stood beside me and took one of my hands in theirs. They lead me towards the float, helped me up onto it and bowed their heads to the five men. They were careful to never touch the float.

"Kneel…" the middle man said, in a tone I wanted to refuse but couldn't. My body acted against my will and I found myself kneeling before him, my head bowed towards the floor.

He pulled something out from behind his back. I felt as though I wasn't obliged to look up, so I never did.

"You, Johnny Baldwin, have passed on. From now and for eternity, you shall march with us; The Black Parade." My head lifted and looked into his eyes without command. He lifted something over my head, and let it fall over my neck and collar bone. I looked down, and revelled in the joy of what I saw.

He had placed a medal around my neck. The ribbon was black, the medal itself was silver. Around the edge were the words "Welcome to the Black Parade", and in the centre was a marching soldier, holding that gold and black stick I had longed to hold since I was a little child. I realised in that moment, my dreams had been achieved, and this medal was my prize.

The middle man spoke up again.

"Welcome to the Black Parade, Johnny."


End file.
